


It's All Politics

by acciosalmon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 19:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acciosalmon/pseuds/acciosalmon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most constant emotional sentiment in Lily's Hogwarts career was her complete and utter loathing of one William Mulciber</p><p>Lily Evans centric with Lily/James and unrequited Lily/Snape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All Politics

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in March of 2010, but I'm finally getting around to posting it to AO3. 
> 
> Includes coarse language, violence, sexuality; trigger warning for sexual harassment. 
> 
> Enjoy ♡

**1**

  
  


William Mulciber had never been on Lily’s radar of boys to be on the lookout for. At age fourteen he wasn’t one to attract attention: he didn’t play for Slytherin’s Quidditch team, and any romantic endeavours he may have participated in never made it through Hogwarts’ intricate grapevine. For Lily’s first two years attending Hogwarts, all she knew of Mulciber was that his family was well known and quite wealthy, he was one of Severus’ roommates, and he had let a chocolate frog loose in Potions class during first year.   
  
Suddenly, in third year, Mulciber hurtled into her life like a rogue Quaffle and it didn’t take long for Lily to yearn for the years when Mulciber’s existence was as inconsequential as that of a fruit fly. Not only had Severus and Mulciber become much closer friends (which, in retrospect, she found understandable since he was a teenage boy and likely could not always relate to his  _girl_  best friend), but it was the same year that both she and Mulciber were invited to join Slughorn’s infamous—and in some ways overrated—Slug Club. The club was an excellent way to mingle with other students and make connections with important people; however, the excitement of Slughorn’s dinner parties wore off after the first term. Nevertheless, Lily attended every function, as did Mulciber.   
  
It didn’t take long to realize how nasty Mulciber really was. His smarmy tone matched his smarmy disposition as he told Slughorn of his decadent vacations, divulged the status of his respected aunts and uncles, and showered Slughorn with imported chocolates and wines. Lily certainly didn’t have a prominent family lineage or exotic destinations to brag about—unless one counted Blackpool, and she sincerely doubted anyone did—but Slughorn’s admiration of her abilities and personality in the classroom transferred to their quaint conversations over the ornate dinner table in his office.   
  
“Now tell me, Lily,” Slughorn started one March evening while scooping up a last spoonful of potatoes with relish only he could exemplify. “Are Muggle chocolates quite as enjoyable as our own? I must admit that I’ve never had the pleasure to try one for myself.”  
  
Lily rolled her eyes and smiled. “I suppose I’ll to send you a box of Cadbury’s over the Easter hols.”  
  
Slughorn’s eyebrows rose as he chewed his slice of roast. “Oho! Send it—”  
  
“Directly to your office,” Lily supplemented as if reading from a script. “Never during dining hours because you’d be pressured to share with the rest of the staff. And I’m sure we all know that that’s the last thing you’d wish to do, Professor.”  
  
Slughorn gave a booming hoot, and nearly everyone at the table chuckled or shook their heads (“Typical,” she heard Spencer Welpie whisper to Helen Edelman). Amid the laughter, Slughorn suggested, for the umpteenth time, that Lily should have been placed in his own house.   
  
Sitting a few seats away from Lily, Mulciber did not look the least bit humoured, particularly by the latest suggestion of a change of house. He stabbed at his food with a gilded fork, staring at his handiwork and refusing to look up as Slughorn, to Lily’s embarrassment, droned on about something memorable Lily had said in her first Potions class. Thankfully, after that anecdote Slughorn moved on and asked Malcolm Warntroud about his father’s latest interview in the Wizard periodical  _The Ministry Review_. Gazing around the large round table and absently prodding her mash, Lily briefly met Mulciber’s steely blue gaze; he suddenly pierced his roast with his fork, startling her. She quickly turned away from him.  
  
By the end of third year, Lily was far from fond of  _any_  of the company Severus kept up with: Avery tended to ignore the existence of those he found below him, Wilkes was quiet but always managed to snicker at the most inappropriate times, and while Rosier flirted with anyone with breasts, blood status be damned, he was as prejudiced as the rest of the boys when it came right down to it. Yet she had no outright qualms against one more than another–until Mulciber finallymade a name for himself after writing a controversial essay for History of Magic on the degradation of society, courtesy of the education of Muggle-Borns in wizarding institutions. News of a reprimand from the usually docile Professor Binns spread quickly through Howgwarts and incited outrage in many, consideration by some, and indifference by others.   
  
“Who cares about what some jumped-up third year wrote?” Lily overheard an older Ravenclaw boy say to what appeared to be his girlfriend from Hufflepuff. “Now, if the prat can write my thirty-inch essay on human to animal transfiguration by tomorrow, maybe I’ll pay attention to him.”  
  
At this stage in her life, Lily was accustomed to open displays of prejudice but they never failed to disturb her. Mulciber’s lack of consideration for basic social niceties and having the nerve to express his bigotry in an academic essay incensed Lily even more. Regardless, the new skip in his step was unmistakable and she knew his new reputation was nothing to take lightly.

  
  


**2**

  
  


Turning fifteen seemed to unleash chaos into what had been normal, everyday life. Lily supposed people simply called it hormones, but having something tangible to blame the insanity on was much easier; she found polyester suits to be a convenient scapegoat for the zaniness that was fourth year.   
  
The ever-increasing rivalry between Severus and the Marauders—James Potter above all—was reaching outrageous levels from both parties, particularly with Severus’ obsession with the group’s clandestine adventures and the constant practical jokes they pulled throughout the castle.   
  
Tensions mounted on an entirely different scale when the first Hogsmeade date appeared and resulted in an incredibly surprised and flattered Lily having to choose from a number of boys to go with. Severus was quite vocal in his disapproval of every student who asked her, from fourth-year Hufflepuff Alexander Perkins (“He’s asked out at least four other girls to Hogsmeade, so clearly he’s desperate”), to fifth-year Gryffindor Edward Lancing (“I hear he’s shit at potions”), to sixth-year Ravenclaw Quincy Tweed (“Are you mental?”). Lily ended up going to Hogsmeade with Severus instead of a date, and he seemed to be in an oddly vibrant mood the entire afternoon, especially upon spotting a surly-looking James Potter on the main road outside of Zonko’s.  
  
A more disconcerting change through fourth year was Severus’ growing relationship with the likes of Mulciber. He made Lily’s skin crawl, like an itch she couldn’t reach. His smiles were cold and detached and his lips were often downturned in a perpetual air of mild distaste. Some girls seemed to find him striking, but despite his meticulously groomed dark brown hair and strong jaw, Mulciber’s attitude and worldviews made his most charming features completely immaterial and downright ugly to Lily. He made it more than abundantly clear that he disapproved of her friendship with Severus more than Avery, Wilkes, or Rosier ever bothered to. The very sight of the two together was either an opportunity for him to look at Lily like she was gum stuck to the sole of his shoe or slowly, silently study her up and down as if evaluating her. Lily much preferred Avery’s tendency to pretend she was invisible as opposed to Mulciber making her intensely self-aware of every freckle, every bit of exposed skin.  
  
Then one spring day they were assigned as each other’s partners during Charms, much to their mutual dismay. Mulciber trudged through the bustling students changing seats and raucously threw his bag on Lily’s table.  
  
“I’m not particularly thrilled either,” Lily told him as he fell into the chair across from her, leaning back on its legs with a cool expression while gripping the edge of the table to maintain balance. “The only reason Flitwick put us together is because we had the best results with summoning charms last class.”  
  
“Are you really comparing our performance in this class, Evans _?_ ” Mulciber’s seemingly permanent scowl was even nastier than usual as he scoffed. “Keep that to a minimum, will you? It’s insulting.”  
  
Lily rolled her eyes and glanced around the room; she spotted James Potter first, partnered up with her friend Amelia Burk, as he drummed his fingers on the wooden table while his square-framed glasses fell further down his nose. Severus seemed indifferent towards his partner, fellow Slytherin Nadia Barlow. As if he could feel Lily’s eyes on him, he turned to look at her. She gave him a weak smile, which he reciprocated before he glanced at Mulciber. She couldn’t quite understand why he was watching Mulciber with a look of such hesitancy. But her unease grew as she turned back to Mulciber and saw his tight lips spread in an unsettling smirk as he met Severus’ gaze.   
  
“Listen,” Lily said, catching Mulciber’s attention. “I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. But I won’t receive poor marks in this class because of that. The faster we get this done, the faster we can stay the hell away from each other.”  
  
Mulciber’s smile quickly faded, and the two stared at one another for several moments, daring the other to make the first move. With a glower, Mulciber scratched the nape of his neck, nodding towards her Charms book as if looking at it for too long would taint him. “Fine, get the damn book out.”  
  
They worked diligently for the remainder of the period, speaking in short monosyllables only when absolutely necessary as they practiced the proper banishing charm technique. Both she and Mulciber were able to banish each others’ heavy, stone statues to the other side of the table with ease by the end of the lesson. The two stood up and demonstrated their mastery of the charm for Professor Flitwick, who responded with gusto before moving away to check how well Remus Lupin and Evelina Rowe had progressed.  
  
Just as Lily was about to sit down, Mulciber aimed his wand towards her chair and murmured the banishing spell under his breath. This went unnoticed by Lily and with a small yelp she fell backwards, landing on her tailbone. Though embarrassed, she was relieved to realize it had gone unnoticed by their classmates as they cursed and squinted at their stone slabs; only Melinda Wisteria bothered to glance over at the sound. Lily glared at Mulciber while he sat with his chin resting in his left palm, wand in his right; his lips curled in a lazy look of amusement. It took her a moment to pay attention to the direction of his gaze, however, which was aimed between her legs. Lily pulled her thighs together with a gasp and quickly stood up, tugging the hem of her gray skirt down; she pressed her knees together as if stuck with glue.   
  
“ _Mulciber!_ ” Lily hissed, feeling her cheeks turn crimson. Before she had a chance to build up a heated reproach, the bell rang for lunch, and she barely heard Flitwick’s hurried announcement of their homework assignment over the chattering, famished fourth years. Mulciber packed up his brown leather satchel and put away his wand. He leaned in towards her across the table, focusing on her scarlet cheeks as if admiring his handiwork.   
  
“At least you’re learning your position in life, Evans. Congratulations,” Mulciber leered. “On the ground with your legs spread.”  
  
Lily’s skin felt hot as she watched Mulciber walk away; her fingers twitched against the warm wood of her wand. She cursed Flitwick’s presence for her inability to properly hex the prick. Frowning, she threw her charms book into her satchel and spotted Severus lingering by the door: slump-shouldered, figure as gaunt as ever, and black chin-length hair falling lankly around his face.  
  
“You’re angry,” Severus noted as he walked alongside her through the busy, echoing corridor.  
  
“I’m livid,” Lily corrected before pulling him aside by the white sleeve of his shirt into a small alcove. Lily bit her lip and ran her hands through her wavy, auburn hair, mulling over how to explain herself. Severus watched her warily as she paced back and forth. She looked up at him and sighed. “Mulciber.”  
  
Severus immediately relaxed, leaning against the opposite wall, and languidly pushed his hands in his trouser pockets. By now, Mulciber was hardly a rare topic of discussion between them. Lily’s disapproval of Mulciber went beyond his dislike of Muggle-Borns: he fed into Severus’ steady interest in Dark Arts more than Severus would ever care to admit, an interest Lily wanted him to cut off. “You think he’s a tosser, I know. But—”  
  
Lily shook her head. “No, Sev, no  _buts_  this time. If you don’t hear it from me, I’m sure you’ll hear a much more  _embellished_ version of it later. He’s...he’s a complete pervert! You won’t  _believe_ what your  _mate_ Mulciber did during Charms. He used a banishing charm on me to look up my skirt and—” Lily bit her lip again, too embarrassed to repeat what Mulciber had said; she felt foul simply  _recalling_  it. “—the  _nerve_!” Fuming, she turned back to him. “Well, don’t you have anything to say?”  
  
Severus was very still, his lips pressed in a thin line, and his nose wrinkled; but he didn’t have the same look of vitriol as when she complained about the likes of Potter or recapped disastrous, overly-hormonal dates. If anything, Severus looked like a complete drip, unsure of how to react at all. He looked down at his dull black leather shoes with ratty laces, as if they suddenly held immense fascination. “He shouldn’t have done that. Mulciber is a fucking twat, we both know that.”  
  
“Well, you can tell him that I—”  
  
“What?” Severus retorted, head snapping up. He let out an amused noise through his nostrils. “That you’re ‘livid’ about it? I’m sure he already knows that. That was probably his  _point_.”  
  
“Why aren’t you taking this more seriously?” Lily folded her arms across her chest, tilting her head to the side with narrowed eyes. “If I told you that any other bloke did the same thing, you’d already be thinking of a dozen ways to make his prick shrivel off.” The likes of James immediately sprung to mind, but providing him as an example would have changed the direction of the conversation completely.  
  
“That’s different,” Severus insisted, as if trying to convince himself of his own assertion. “ _They_  aren’t my friends.”  
  
“You mean like  _Mulciber_?” Lily’s voice became more and more high pitched as her disbelief at Severus’ blasé tone grew. “For fuck’s sake, Sev, if I can’t even trust you to do a quick, ‘Oy, mind not getting an eyeful at my best friend’s knickers in the middle of Charms’ on my behalf—”  
  
Severus heaved a sigh before interrupting. “All right, all right, I’ll talk to him about it. I’ll tell him that he’s a right git for doing it. Will that make you satisfied?”  
  
“Yeah, it would,” Lily said evenly.  
  
The corridor was silent then, save the spontaneous sound of leather heels on the marble floor, and so were Severus and Lily. Though still upset by Severus’ lack of concern, she heaved a sigh and found his hand in the shadows of the enclave and felt him grip her hand back. He laced his fingers through her own, and Lily smiled. Severus stared at their hands, considering her chipped red nail polish between his potion and ink-stained fingers. His hand was a warm, welcoming sense of comfort despite their row, despite constant turbulence in their relationship; it was like a yo-yo, arguments and short-term silent treatments before quickly finding some way to reconcile.   
  
She supposed they had always been a rather dysfunctional pair from the very first time they met. But what had once been arguments of misunderstanding were becoming arguments of ideals and values. They were much more heated than that silly row over whose idea it was to see if pickle root actually tasted like pickles one fateful second-year Potions class, which had left Lily with a polka-dotted tongue for a week. She knew Severus likely wouldn’t say a damn thing to Mulciber, conveniently forget to raise Lily’s concerns and would rather pretend their conversation had never happened; he cared too much about what Mulciber thought of him.   
  
Lily hoped that their next inevitable argument was over something as inconsequential as pickle root rather than one over William Mulciber.

  
  


**3**

  
  


Lily and Severus sat on an ancient stone bench under a poplar tree; the minuscule amber glow was the only dash of light in the deep blue, misty twilight of autumn. Severus’s school robes fluttered around his ankles as a large gust of wind tore through the grounds. Dressed in her Muggle clothes, Lily pulled her new green coat closer to her body with one hand while holding a cigarette up to her red lips with the other.  
  
“You’re a terrible prefect sometimes, you know. Smoking fags on Hogwarts grounds?” Severus took back his cigarette from Lily’s fingers and took a drag. The smoke emitting from his warm mouth mixed with the frigid weather, producing a massive gray cloud of tobacco and air. “Scandal.”  
  
Lily laughed. “Never hurts to be a little bad, yeah?”   
  
Catching up with each other had regrettably become a chore by fifth year. At fifteen nearing sixteen, it became abundantly clear they were drifting further apart with new friends and new interests, so they savoured any opportunity to meet in private.   
  
She regained his cigarette and took an exaggerated drag, smoke streaming from her lips in a way she imagined appeared cool and nonchalant, like a femme fatale in an old black and white film. “Now all I need is a leather jacket, tight jeans, and a big, muscular bloke with tattoos all over his arms. If he has a motorbike, then I’ll have the full package.”  
  
Severus snorted and wriggled his fingers towards the cigarette burning away between her fingers. He inhaled and scoffed. “Right.” Holding out his arms, he sceptically regarded their undefined form through his robe sleeves. “Well, I guess I’m out of the running.”  
  
Lily grasped his upper arm as if searching for a hidden bulge of muscle. She glanced up at him, noticing his slightly downcast lips. With a squeeze of his arm and a warm grin, she said, “Don’t look like such a mardy little Tyke. I’m only joking.”  
  
“My dad said my arms are worse than limp noodles.”  
  
“Your dad also believed you when you said that witches can’t eat pudding on Wednesdays or else they’d melt. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Sev, but your father is hardly the bastion of all truth.”  
  
Severus laughed into a hoarse cough. “You remember that?”  
  
“Of course I remember!” Lily said, sounding affronted. “We laughed about it for hours. My sides were aching for the rest of the day. Oh, and it was a Sunday in August.”  
  
Severus looked at her full on, absorbing her pale face and her nose pink from cold before he rested his gaze on her slightly parted lips. Lily quickly darted her tongue along her lips self-consciously, returning to the topic at hand.  
  
“Anyway, I can prioritize. Smoking fags is hardly as reprehensible as the other horrid things that have been happening around here.” Severus’ eyes darted from her mouth to her eyes, and they gave each other significant looks before Lily quickly changed the subject and nodded at the waning cigarette. “Hurry up with that, will you? I thought that we could look up that potion you mentioned the other day before I meet up with the girls tonight. I’ve been recruited to facilitate a Muggle makeover party, you see, which really means that I have to make sure the girls don’t use up all of my fire-engine-red lipstick. Tuney already tried to nick it over holiday. She’d gone spare when I caught her, remember? Sev?”   
  
Severus’ attention had turned to two cloaked figures in the distance. As they got closer, she realized with a frown that it was Avery and Mulciber. She heaved a sigh. “Oh, fantastic.  _Brilliant_. Just the people I want to see on a Friday night: The motley crew, including a bigot who fancies my knickers.”  
  
Severus raised his hand in acknowledgement of the boys. Lily turned slightly away from them and resisted the urge to skip the library affair altogether and start powdering noses and chatting about how attractive some miscellaneous seventh year looked that day in the dining hall.  
  
“We’ve been looking for you, mate,” Avery said, scratching his blonde scalp and ignoring Lily with ease; she wasn’t complaining. “That third-year Crouch nicked this book from his father’s study over holiday. It’s fucking brilliant. There is this one that turns your kidneys inside out. Oh and another that permanently shuts any opening on your body.  _Plus_ , it’s got pictures. Right nasty stuff, I tell you.”  
  
Severus’ eyebrows raise and there was a hint of a lift of his lips around the cigarette. Lily felt her stomach sink. “That sounds—”  
  
“ _Absolutely disgusting!_ ” Lily cried, rounding on them. “I hope you boys aren’t planning to  _use_  whatever you find in that book or else I’d have half a mind to report Crouch to Professor Slughorn. Don’t think I wouldn’t. Crouch is already on notice after sneaking that book out of the Restricted Section last week.”   
  
Avery stared at her as if she just apparated in front of him, then elbowed Mulciber playfully in the ribs as he mimicked her objection in a mocking, lofty tone. “Cor, are the painters in, Evans?”  
  
“When they drop by, you’ll be the first to know,” Lily retorted.  
  
Mulciber wordlessly seized Severus’ cigarette, took a drag, and threw it down before rubbing it into the cold grass with the toe of his boot. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Did you happen to remember that spell, Av? Or anything that’ll shut that fat gob of hers permanently?” Avery snickered, and Lily gave Mulciber a two-finger salute, which only resulted in Avery laughing harder. Mulciber grinned. “If you weren’t a prefect, I’d take away points, Evans.” He gave her his typical once-over; his eyes flitted across her face before averting his gaze toward Severus. “Are you coming or would you rather chat her up all night?”  
  
“In a minute,” Severus snapped, looking exasperated. “Don’t wait up.”  
  
“Fuck, I hate him. And I don’t hate easily,” Lily muttered, watching Avery and Mulciber walk off towards the castle. “They’re talking about this book as if it’s  _pornography_. I’d rather them get excited about page three than that shite.”  
  
Severus’ lip twitched as he said, “Avery’s got worse than page three under his mattress, I’ll tell you that much.”  
  
“Brilliant,” Lily said, deadpan. “I still can’t believe Mulciber’s a prefect. How on  _earth_?”  
  
“Like I’ve said a billion times before, marks—”  
  
“You’ve got just as good marks as him. Better, really, and you know it.”  
  
“But I’m not showering Slughorn with enough sugar and fat to clog all his arteries. Mulciber  _is_ ,” Severus noted with badly concealed resentment. Severus had wanted to be a prefect for as long as Lily could remember. “Just ignore him.”  
  
“He’s becoming hard to ignore. If he isn’t staring me down during prefect meetings, he’s giving me right nasty looks during Slughorn’s gatherings. I haven’t done  _anything_  to him besides be Muggle-born...and your friend.” Lily shuddered as another strong gust of wind blew past her. “What a petty bastard.”  
  
The two sat in silence for several moments before Severus spoke up. “Come on then, let’s look up that potion.”  
  
“But what about that bloody book?” Lily asked, glowering at the castle as if she could see the book in the eager hands of the Slytherin boys.  _  
  
_“Fuck it.”  
  
“You mean it?”  
  
“I mean it,” Severus said, taking a long look at the castle himself. “You’re more important than some sodding book, you know.”

| 

**4**

  
  


The summer after fifth year and the first term of sixth year was a time for reflection. Lily didn’t regret her decision to break off her friendship with Severus; it was anything but an easy choice to make. But she had too much self-respect to allow herself to be deemed an exception or one of the “good ones” based off some madcap notion that Muggle-borns were inferior by default. The incident by the lake was the last straw to an accumulation of warning signs—each more alarming than the last.  
  
Lily’s friends’ warnings of his behaviour and her own attempts to dissuade him from Dark Arts and Death Eaters failed for the last time. Back in their dormitory the night after the incident, Mary McDonald was rather forward about the ordeal; while the rest of Lily’s girlfriends attempted to cheer her up with sweets from Honeydukes, Mary assured her, “You did the right thing. He just  _can’t_  have his cake and eat it too.”   
  
It would have been easier to put all the blame on Mulciber and claim he was the catalyst in Severus’ behaviour; but that gave Mulciber too much credit. Lily was tired of wracking her brains in vain to conceive another inane excuse for why Severus believed something she found so disgusting. She was sick of feeling as if  _she_  had failed as a friend for her inability to change warped views of blood status and Dark Arts. Few friendships lasted forever, but she wanted to believe they could be an exception to the rule, like they were invincible. She had clung to her memories of an earlier Severus but those fleeting images and memories became nothing more than a barrier, obstructing the nastier reality of their relationship; they were reduced to simple disagreements that derailed into digging up previous arguments about Potter and Mulciber, like old scabs ripped off to bleed anew.   
  
She saw Severus twice that summer. A week after they returned home, he lurked outside her home for nearly half an hour. She watched him, unseen, through the tiny threads of her thick, mustard-yellow curtain. He glanced up at her window every few minutes, seeming too unsure of whether or not to knock on the door. He waited until Mrs. Evans, late for a book club meeting with a run in her stockings and her hair slightly askew, headed towards the family car in the driveway. With the window cracked open and the street quiet that afternoon, she could hear snatches of their conversation.  
  
“Hello, Mrs. Evans. Is Lily in?”  
  
“Oh—” Mrs. Evans hesitated, quickly looking towards Lily’s window. “I’m sorry, darling, she’s not feeling very well today. But I’ll tell her you came round.” Her mother gave him a small squeeze on the shoulder, and with one last glance toward her window, Severus slouched off down the road. She almost felt guilty.  
  
The second time she saw him was a July afternoon when she was running a quick errand. Severus was across the small road, walking briskly out of a nearby pharmacy, lighting up a cigarette with a match from his pocket. He froze when he caught sight of her beyond the parked and passing cars, his eyes widening. With the short distance between them, she could tell he was in terrible shape: thin and dishevelled, and the cigarettes did little to ease his strange disposition. She gave an awkward wave of her fingers before hurrying into the alteration shop to pick up her father’s suit set. When she came out, he was gone.  
  
Lily spent long summer days lying on her floor, lethargically, mindlessly listening to records, and nights staring into the blue glow of the telly. She wanted to get away from it all: magic, the wizarding world, and its increasingly violent conflicts. Stories of murdered Muggles, Muggle-borns, and dissenters of the Death Eaters and Voldemort plagued her to the point of canceling her subscription of the Daily Prophet that summer and making up excuses to avoid her Hogwarts friends.   
  
At first, disconnecting was an odd relief. Her summer picked up some speed with a fling with Henry Hemmings, a Muggle boy she met at a bookstore. Their short relationship was only a small component of a summer of exuberant weekends driving around with Henry’s mates in beat up cars around Yorkshire, coming in late and reeking of shitty fags and even shittier cider, and staring at the glazed eyes of Farrah Fawcett in a bathing suit on Henry’s ceiling whenever she was in his too small bed with sheets clutched to her chest. All were fun distractions, an escape from the reality of a world Henry would never know of and a world that Lily felt unwelcome in.   
  
Summer was almost at its end when Lily came to the conclusion that purposely avoiding the slightest trickles of magic and the wizarding world did nothing but emphasize how much she truly belonged there. She could no longer ignore the restless, bubbling, intangible sensation in her bones and knew something wasn’t right. Something was unnatural about separating herself from what was rightfully hers, a world that belonged to her just as much as it belonged to any other witch and wizard. Recoiling from war and hatred didn’t make either element disappear and escapist thrills didn’t destroy the grim realism, only shrouded it with pretenses.   
  
OWL results brought her back to reality and, encouraged by her good marks, Lily returned to Hogwarts feeling both oddly disconnected yet rejuvenated and ready for her last two years of school. Nevertheless, NEWTs level courses were a challenge both academically  _and_  socially: though she had a number of friends and acquaintances in each of her classes, she often had to deal with the awkward task of sitting nearly every day in the same room as Severus, as well as Mulciber, which was in some ways much worse.  
  
First term came and went without much of a hitch, and to her surprise she found herself in the company of James Potter, of all people, more than she ever anticipated. Though she and Severus were no longer friends, his adamant assertion that James Potter fancied her never left her mind. It was beyond clear by sixth year that Severus was absolutely right, and James had no qualms openly expressing this fact. This sometimes made being around him—no matter whether the encounter was playful or irritating—a relatively uncomfortable affair.  
  
One February night Lily was startled to find James alone in the common room; he never seemed to be without the Marauders or the admiring younger years. She approached him, carrying her newly checked out Transfiguration- and Potions-related tomes. Perched atop those was a long, rectangular box of leftover chocolates from her seventeenth birthday.  
  
“Studying for McGonagall’s exam?”  
  
James pushed his square-framed glasses further up his nose as he grinned up at her. Running his hand through his hair, he moved his book off the cushion next to him, offering Lily a seat. “Sort of. Glancing through, really.”   
  
“Class was a right kick in the arse today,” Lily said, gathering her legs onto the cushion. “Of course,  _you_  wouldn’t understand. You’re ace at Transfiguration.”  
  
“Thanks.” James glanced up from the text to smile at her with a proud gleam in his eye. “It  _is_  my favourite subject.”  
  
“I can’t believe that out of everyone in the class, the only people who managed to completely change their hair colour were you, Sirius, and Sev—” Lily stopped herself and blinked furiously, busying herself with her book before finishing in a low tone. “Severus. It was impressive.”  
  
“Honestly, you called him Snivellus once. I’d keep it up if I were you, does the spirit good,” James said, resting his arm behind the couch and leaning in towards her with what he must have believed was a comforting grin.   
  
Lily looked up with a glare; James’ smile sank. “I’d rather not, and neither should you.”  
  
“Yeah, but he—”  
  
“Yes, James, he called me a  _filthy little Mudblood_. I hardly need you to remind me.” Lily gathered her hair behind her ears, feeling herself tremor with anger. “I came here hoping to review with you, not to talk about this. Sometimes I wonder whether you were genuinely offended by his comment or if you just use it as an excuse to gripe about him.”  
  
“Of course not,” James insisted. “Don’t be stupid. You know how much I hate that blood purity shite no matter  _who_  spews it.”  
  
Lily’s hardened expression softened as she regarded James, his hair as messy as ever but with a pleading look in his eyes. He may have been contemptuous when it came to bullying Severus and acted as if the world was his oyster, but a total arsehole he was not, particularly where politics were concerned. She realized she was staring and looked away from him to eat her chocolates.  
  
“Blimey, you eat those slowly.” She looked up, noticing James watching the almond cluster between her fingers; the chocolate was slowly melting. Lily wordlessly held the box out towards him, and he peered at the chocolate confections of different shapes, colours, and sizes; his hand hovered over them before grabbing a dark shell-shaped chocolate. He held it up to the light and squinted. “What’s in this one?”  
  
“Blackberry filling. Sorta weird, eh?” Lily said, sucking the chocolate off of her fingers.  
  
James shrugged and popped the shell whole into his mouth. Still chewing, he said, “Good though, thanks.”  
  
Lily shook her head with a reluctant grin before closing her book and standing up. “Look, I’ve got rounds. I’ll be back at—”  
  
“Nine-twenty-five on the dot,” James finished with a short laugh. “Remus told me about how prompt you are. It’s scary.”  
  
“Speaking of Remus, if you see him tell him that Verma wants to know if he can switch rounds. And watch my books, will you? Don’t charm it to do anything while I’m gone and try not to get any wank stains on it or something. And don’t nick my chocolates.”  
  
“But can I get wank stains on your chocolates?”  
  
“Well, sure...if you want to wake up in the morning with boils on your bollocks.”  
  
James gave her a soldier’s salute before returning to his Transfiguration book.

  
  


**...**

  
  


Lily and Mulciber had agreed in fifth year that anytime they were stuck patrolling together, they’d divide the castle in half: Lily was to start from the seventh floor around Gryffindor Tower and make her way down to the fourth floor, while Mulciber started in the dungeons around Slytherin and made his way to the fourth floor as well. They met at the bottom of the staircase nearest the prefect bathrooms, acknowledged each other, and went their separate ways.   
  
That night the corridors seemed full of couples schmoozing and snogging in secluded alcoves and under stairwells. Valentine’s Day was approaching, and it appeared as though many were celebrating as early as possible. By nine-ten Lily caught no sight of Mulciber at the staircase, so she strolled around in a small circle, vaguely admiring the towering tapestry hanging halfway down the damp, dark corridor. Ten minutes later, Lily was wondering if Mulciber skived off rounds entirely that night when she suddenly bumped into him as he walked around the tapestry just as she turned towards it. Lily held her wand in a vice-like grip and clapped her hand over her mouth to stop a scream, and Mulciber looked just as startled until his eyebrows relaxed.   
  
Lily cleared her throat. “Right, well, since you’re done with your half of the patrolling...I've got a Potions essay to start.” She started toward the old stone stairwell nearby.  
  
“Why bother starting that essay?” Mulciber sneered. His voice ricocheted around the small, stone enclave. “You could blow your nose on a piece of parchment and turn it in and Slughorn would give you an Outstanding.”  
  
Lily stopped in her tracks. “ _Excuse me?_ ”  
  
“But not before he raves on about how  _you_  should be a Slytherin,” Mulciber spat.  
  
Lily scoffed and continued to walk, not the least bit interested in hearing Mulciber rant about Slughorn’s favouritism. But she heard Mulciber following until he was right on her heels, his breath warm and fluttering through her hair.  
  
“But be honest, Evans: how many times did you have to suck old Slughorn off to get those marks he’s always raving about? It’ll be our little secret. Do you get on your knees once per term, or is it more of a weekly routine? ”  
  
Lily spun around and slapped him soundly across his cheek. He froze, then gingerly touched his face, gaping at her. The expression seemed unpractised and crude, certainly out of the element of the ever cool and collected Mulciber; a mortifying mixture of embarrassment and disgust, as if she had  _dared_  touch him.   
  
Lily’s fingertips pulsed from the strike, tingling with pain and triumph: she couldn’t deny she’d wanted to do that for years. “I earn my marks in Potions fair and square.  _Piss off, Mulciber_.”   
  
She strode down the corridor, assuming Mulciber would back off and wander back to the Slytherin common room with a bruised cheek to match a bruised ego.   
  
“ _EXPELLIARMUS!_ ”  
  
She hardly had time to react to Mulciber’s furious howl before her wand wrenched out of her grip, striking the ground with a soft clatter down the corridor. Mulciber advanced towards her, pushing her back against the stone wall under the stairwell. He pressed against her, his frame obstructing her view of the dark hall. She didn’t want to show the slightest sign of fear, but her heartbeat increased dramatically with every inhale of his skin.   
  
“Don’t you think it’s funny,” Mulciber started, his voice rumbling low in her ear, causing her to shiver, “that without your wand you’re completely defenseless? You’re even more useless than usual.”  
  
“ _Get off of me!_ ” She pushed against his chest, but he hardly budged. Her breath quickened. “I’ll report you for attacking a fellow prefect.”  
  
“You really think I’m intimidated by the fucking prefect badge?” Mulciber grabbed the golden badge pinned to the left side of her chest and ripped it off, tearing her robes, and threw it on the ground. The loud clank echoing through the deserted hall made Lily flinch. “When will you stupid Mudbloods understand that life isn’t just inside this damn castle? You lot have gained a really false sense of security.”  
  
“I’m not an idiot, Mulciber,” Lily said, lowering her voice to as stern of a tone she could muster. “I  _know_  what’s going on in the real world. And I know exactly what you’re going to be up to as soon as you leave. I know how keen you and your lot are to bring your propagandist rubbish onto Hogwarts grounds.  _Don’t_  condescend to me, as if I don’t know.” Her voice cracked at the end of her diatribe, and she felt her eyes water. She looked away from him, down at his shiny leather shoes, but Mulciber grabbed her by the chin so she was forced to stare at his dark blue eyes in the hazy glow of the distant torch light.   
  
“You’re thinking about Severus, aren’t you?”  
  
Lily tensed. The sickeningly sweet delivery of his false concern made her nauseous. “You aren’t really his friend, you know,” she whispered. “You aren’t.”  
  
Mulciber scoffed. “As if  _you_ are. I’m pretty sure that  _you’re_  the one who dropped him last year.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean I don’t care about him, you sod. That doesn’t mean that I don’t worry about what the hell he could possibly be getting up to,” Lily snapped as more tears streamed down her cheeks. She wrenched her chin out of his hold. “You couldn’t care less about him.”  
  
“He should have dropped you first,” Mulciber said through bared teeth. “He was too soft. If some Mudblood was nagging  _me_ about Dark Arts all the time...acting so saintly about it when you’ve never used a dark spell in your life.”  
  
“And I hope I never have to,” Lily snapped, voice still strained but standing up straighter.   
  
“So you have no idea how it feels,” Mulciber said softly, his hands gripping her upper arms. There was a dark gleam in his eye and a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You couldn’t handle it anyway. It’s too powerful. You haven’t lived until you’ve felt the thrill of it running in your arm, through your body. The Dark Arts is about what everybody wants and what most are too cowardly to strive for.... Power. It’s about controlling something designed to be uncontrollable.” He looked madder and madder as his gaze remained unblinking, eyes wide, tone dropping with every syllable. “You feel like God, Evans. Like you can do anything. Don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to feel that way. If you do, you’re a fucking liar.”  
  
His closeness was becoming claustrophobic, scattering her thoughts. She took a deep breath. “What I’ve wanted is pointless to how Dark Arts corrupt your mind...your decisions. It makes you sick. It’s not just a hobby, Mulciber, it’s...it’s like an addiction. Being familiar with the Dark Arts is one thing, but practicing it is another! Why...why am I even trying to  _reason_ with you? You’re a complete  _nutter_! Oh, but I’m sure Voldemort must be proud to have so many of his boys using Dark Arts. What, does it make you feel like a  _big man_ , then?”  
  
Mulciber’s face contorted into a snarl, his grip tightening as she grew bolder. “I’d be more careful if I were you, Evans.”  
  
“Are you threatening me?”  
  
Mulciber nearly smiled. “Think of it as a warning. No need playing dumb, is there? You know what I’ll be up to after I leave this place. You know what we want, and you know what we’re after. But don’t be too surprised to find yourself in a situation you can’t get yourself out of.”  
  
“What the hell are you going on about?”   
  
“It’s all politics, you see. Everything is political. Everything from us  _real wizards_ demanding the right to use our abilities without hiding or fear...to turning Mudblood bints like you into nothing more than a piece of skirt. Nothing is coincidence or by chance. Strategy, all of it.” Mulciber relished the flicker of fear she knew she showed against her will. He pressed his body closer to hers, lips grazing against her hair and setting her nerves on fire. “A slag like you should be fun. I’ll make sure to give you one. Maybe I’ll convince everyone else to keep you around when we’re done instead of killing you and dumping the body. I wouldn’t mind more than a few sloppy fucks with you.”  
  
“So this is what gets you off, Mulciber? Pinning girls to walls while you fantasize about shagging and killing them?” Lily tried to ignore his arousal pressing against her stomach. Managing to scoff, she looked into his eyes, hoping she evoked an air of valour and cold apathy. “Wow, you really  _are_  a sick bastard.”  
  
Mulciber’s eyes narrowed, and with a snarl he shoved her shoulders into the hard stone behind her. “Do you really want to see how much of a sick bastard I can be, Evans? You’d gag for a demonstration, wouldn’t you?  _Wouldn’t you?_ ” Lily quietly hissed as the back of her head banged against the wall and her shoulder blades seared with pain.  
  
Mulciber’s grip on her arms cut off her circulation, making it more difficult to move her arms, and his body pressed against her in made it impossible to move her legs. But she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing her fear in her throat; it’s what the bastard wanted.  
  
“With one flick of this wand I could make you do whatever I want. You think I’m having you on, don’t you? Don’t think I know how to perform an Imperius Curse?” He jostled her again. “I’m not bluffing. I could make you jump out of that window and no one would notice you were there until the first years head over to the greenhouses tomorrow morning, only to see Saint Evans’ muddy blood killing the grass. I could make you fall down that flight of stairs and break your little neck.” His fingertips feathered against her collarbone. “I could make you give yourself to me. I wouldn’t even have to trip you to get a look under your skirt.”  
  
Mulciber’s hands were cold as they slithered under the bottom of her shirt, squeezing her bare waist. Lily gave a startled cry, and he removed one hand and gripped her by her cheeks while the other tightened on her skin. “ _Shut up, you stupid cunt.”  
  
_ Once convinced she wouldn’t open her mouth again, he let go of her face and tried to hold her still as she struggled against him. She felt him smile against her hair. “I wonder how many goes Severus would have with you. Maybe I’ll ask him.”  
  
Reaching well beyond her limit, and without a second thought, she reared her head back and spat into Mulciber’s left eye. He staggered back, stunned as he ran his palm frantically over the side of his face, and Lily took the opportunity to kick him wherever her legs could strike. Mulciber cursed and staggered, nursing his shins. Lily grabbed her wand and dashed up the staircase as fast as she could. When she reached the top step, she heard Mulciber shout from the floor below, “Mudblood bitch!”

  
  


**...**

  
  


Lily leaned over a basin and feverishly splashed cold water on her face in the prefect bathroom. Her hands were trembling as she conjured up a small hand towel to dry herself off. She looked down at the towel, showing the residuals of her makeup on its fine, white fibres; it was easier to look at than her own face. Finally looking at herself in the mirror, she frowned upon seeing how red her eyes were and gently flushed them with more water until the irritation cleared up. She wanted to sob, to scream, to release her frustration in any way possible and wondered why this had to happen to her, knowing this wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been brought up by what people like Mulciber deemed the wrong sort. Purebloods and half-bloods didn’t have to worry about maniacs attacking them in corridors for something so arbitrary, so uncontrollable. Her hands clutched to the curved, porcelain edges of the sink and she took deep, shuddering breaths; each exhale caught on the lump in her throat.   
  
After several moments she felt her muscles relax and her tremors stop. It was ten minutes after ten o’clock when she finally returned to the common room, and James set aside a piece of parchment before leaping up from the couch.   
  
“All right? What happened? What’d he want?” James asked.  
  
“What did  _who_  want, James?” Lily snapped, eying him suspiciously and in no mood to be interrogated. In a daze, she moved back to the couch, and James followed. The common room was oddly sparse; only a sleeping third year and a few fourth years writing letters remained. Lily gazed at the dwindling fire, vaguely recalling that it was much more robust before she left. James prodded her bare knee with the chocolate box, in which only five remained: he had eaten three.  
  
“I left the clusters,” James said sheepishly. “You ate more of those than the others, so I just figured...”  
  
“Thank you,” Lily said softly, looking at the chocolate box with eyes watered slightly from moving her eyes from the burning embers. After a beat of silence and with a peanut cluster poised at her lips, she said, “Can I share something with you, James?”  
  
“Sure, anything,” James said, turning towards her.  
  
Lily finished her chocolate and closed her eyes, leaning her head back and trailing her hands over her face before she began.   
  
“I’m so tired of feeling as though I have to prove I belong here. I can work twice as hard as a pureblood and still be treated as some sort of bloody success story, like I lack the same sort of magical abilities as a half or pureblood by default. I used to be so sure of myself, as if I could single-handedly fight prejudice.” She scoffed, deprecation filtering through her words. “But now I feel as if there is nothing I can do about it. And sometimes I wonder if purebloods will ever look at me as an equal. I’m friends with plenty, but even  _they_  say things that are unintentionally offensive and I just...I mean...Is it all a fucking facade, and really you are all just marvelling at the fact that I can hold a wand properly?” She sensed James about to interject, so she cut him off before he had the chance. “I know, you think it’s silly, but I can’t help it. I’m proud to be a Muggle-born, but at home, my sister acts like I’m a complete freak and here people act like I’m lower than dirt. I don’t truly fit in anywhere, I suppose.”  
  
James said nothing, and instead placed a hand on her shoulder. Lily took his hand and brought it down to her lap. He cleared his throat. “My parents always taught me that blood purity was absolute rubbish, and they’re right. You’re brilliant, regardless of who your bloody parents are. I mean, I’m not going to pretend that I know how you feel because I don’t - I’ve been lucky and frankly I don’t think I deserve it.”  
  
“You shouldn’t feel guilty,” Lily said. “It’s not your fault that people are complete arseholes.”  
  
“Well, when you read the  _Prophet_  and see stories of people getting kidnapped and murdered because of blood status, it’s a little hard not to. But all you can do is try to help, I suppose.”  
  
“Help?”   
  
“Well, sure,” James whispered, before leaning in close to her. “If the war is still going on once I’m out of here, well...I want to be fighting on the right side.”  
  
Lily had never seen James so mature, so grave. In that moment she realized that, in a way, they’ve grown up together. Since their first horrid encounter on the train in first year when they were both so small and gangly, knobby-kneed and high pitched...and now, Lily was already considered an adult in the Wizarding world and James would be as well in a month’s time. It was surreal, how much time changed people; how it had changed Severus, how it had changed James...how it had changed her.  
  
“You know,” Lily said softly, “you shouldn’t try so hard sometimes.”  
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
“Well,” Lily started with a quirk of her lips, “When you try to impress me, you have as much grace as a hippogriff wearing stiletto heels. But when you don’t try, well, you can be rather charming. And...thoughtful...I reckon.”  
  
“And is this one of my better moments?” James asked, sounding hopeful.  
  
Giving him a furtive smile, Lily replied, “I’ll let you figure that one out for yourself.”  
  
Lily stood up and wrapped her arms around her, suddenly chilled without the immediate warmth of James’ body. Both moved toward their respective tower doors. James ran his hands through his hair with his head slightly lowered, his eyes gazing upwards towards her. She felt herself begin to blush. “Goodnight. And thanks for listening, I appreciate it. I really do.”  
  
“Anytime.” His eyes followed her as she ascended the staircase. “Night, Lily.”  
  
The next morning, Lily mucked up the courage to inform McGonagall about her encounter with Mulciber. She decided to leave out the more intimate details which were too disturbing to recall aloud and remained vague about the attack. McGonagall assured her that Mulciber would be reprimanded accordingly but getting the incident off her chest was far from the highlight of her day: that evening she found out that Mulciber was recuperating from a nasty case of boils...on his privates. James received two weeks of detention and Mulciber was stuck in the hospital wing for two nights with a temporarily tarnished reputation and a laundry list of suitable punishments dictated by McGonagall and Slughorn. Nevertheless, Lily had to admit that the timing of the boils affair was an incredibly strange coincidence.

  
  


**5**

  
  


The seventh year Gryffindor boys’ dormitory was always a right tip. Books and clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor, quills and spilled ink jars lay sad and broken on the ornate carpeting, and something bright blue of a mysterious consistency had been splattered above the window. The wireless blasting The Hobgoblin’s latest singles made the messy boudoir appear even more hectic. Yet despite the complete disarray and momentary sense of disgust, Lily tended to be rather comfortable in the clutter. The room was completely empty that late May evening, except for Lily and James.   
  
“Hurry up, James, we’re going to be late!” Lily shouted.  
  
“In a minute!” James called from inside the bathroom.  
  
With a sigh, Lily lay back on James’ bed and swung her legs back and forth against the edge of the frame. They had officially been dating for eight months, and to call their relationship a rollercoaster was a complete understatement. The idle gossip eventually slowed down by November, Sirius ceased calling Lily a “complete fucking Yoko Ono” by December, and by January Severus managed to stop looking at her as if she had a venereal disease.   
  
Lily and James had gone to the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year together, and a relationship had quickly flourished from there. She had invited him over for an evening during Christmas hols - an adventure in itself. He marvelled at her record collection, claiming it was much bigger and diverse than Sirius’, which consisted primarily of punk music and one Bee Gees album he swore had magically made its way into his stack.   
  
James was perfect in his imperfection; he was funny and lively, yet knew when to be serious. He was much smarter than Lily had ever given him credit for, and he was bloody good at snogging to boot. Lily’s parents approved of him right away while Petunia was, naturally, skeptical and thought that her fiancé Vernon was the best thing since sliced bread.   
  
If anyone had told her a year prior that she’d soon be dating James Potter, she would have told them that were bonkers. Honestly, she sometimes believed  _she_  must have been bonkers to fall in love with him, especially when he came hopping out of the bathroom with one leg in his trousers and a shirt hanging from his mouth. He quickly righted himself so he wasn’t flailing about the room in his y-fronts and instead looked nearly decent with half his clothes on and hair askew as usual.  
  
“Could you not lie in my bed with your hair all...spread out like that?” James asked, sounding pained. “I’m starting to get ideas, which include skiving off Slughorn’s party and staying here.”  
  
Lily rose slightly with a quirk of her lips, leaning back against her elbows as she watched him search for a clean shirt to wear under his navy blue robes with the gold buttons; they were her favourite.  
  
“I promised I’d go...we’d go,” Lily said. “I’d really rather not have Slughorn pestering me about skipping out on his last big party of my last year at Hogwarts.”  
  
James stood in front of a floor-length mirror, examining himself from all angles as he pulled and tugged on his robes. He ran his hands atop his hair as if trying to press his flyaway locks of hair flat on his head, to no avail. “As long as Slughorn remembers that I—not him— _I_  am your date, I guess it’ll be all right.” James turned to wink at Lily and just narrowly missed being hit in the face with his pillow. Instead, it hit the wireless, which fell to the ground with a thud; Stubby Boardman sang no more.  
  
Slughorn’s spring affair was like every other gathering from prior years: schmoozing up to important people, older students none too subtly hinting at employment opportunities, and dozens of bowls of crystallized pineapple sweets placed within mere feet of one another. As the last large-scale Slughorn party of the year, Slug Club members brought dates or friends to the event, many of whom had never before attended an infamous Slughorn event; the room was packed, despite being charmed to increase in size.  
  
The night had gone by smoothly enough, but Lily suspected that something must be wrong in the cosmos if everything went on without a glitch. As James, Lily, and a few other students were in the middle of conversing with Professor Slughorn and famed Potion inventor Jonathan Yancey, James excused himself to refill Lily’s glass of mead. Just as Yancey ended his story, Lily glanced over towards the beverage table only to see James standing stock-still with Lily’s glass of mead in hand: he was eavesdropping on the conversation behind him, a conversation between Severus, Mulciber, and a man Slughorn had invited to the party but one Lily did not recognize. She politely excused herself and headed over towards James, hoping to tempt him away from whatever he was overhearing.  
  
Just as she reached him, James audibly snorted. “That’s the biggest load of tosh I’ve heard all week, Mulciber.” He faced Mulciber and Severus, who both looked affronted and startled by the interruption. He looked from between them again and grinned. “Though I must compliment you on your choice of date for tonight.”  
  
Mulciber’s nostrils flared as he glanced timidly at the man to whom he had been speaking while Severus flushed an ugly mauve and turned his attention to Lily, giving her the only look he seemed able to throw her way when she was with James: disgust.  
  
“Egad, are you Cornelius Potter’s boy? James, is it?”  
  
The stranger suddenly beamed at James as if he’d been reunited with an old friend. His bushy brown-and-gray eyebrows rose, and his light brown eyes crinkled at the edges. He appeared to be around sixty years old, matched Lily’s medium height, and wore very dapper grey dress robes with black trousers.  
  
James couldn’t resist smiling at the recognition as he handed Lily her drink. “The one and only.”  
  
“Merlin, the last time I saw you, you were up to here!” He placed his hand well below his hip. “I hear you play Quidditch. You’re a Chaser, am I right? Ah, thought so, you  _were_ rather obsessed as a boy, if I recall correctly. And if your badge is correct, you’re Head Boy! Merlin, I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I’m—”  
  
“Adrien Agterop, of course. You write for  _Politics Monthly._ ”  
  
Agterop lifted his glass. “Ah, so the man knows Quidditch  _and_ political periodicals. And how are your parents?”  
  
“Well, sir, very well.” James nodded as he maintained a smile through the lie; his father had been ill since the holidays.  
  
“And who is this young lady on your arm?” Agterop asked, regarding Lily’s dress robes of deep purple and the gleaming gold badge pinned to her front. “Head Girl, I presume.”  
  
“Lily Evans, pleasure to meet you.” Lily gave him her hand, which he gracefully turned palm down and brought to his lips with a genial kiss. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Severus shift slightly.  
  
“Anyway, sir,” Mulciber said, angling his body away from Lily and James and looking intent on continuing his original conversation. “As I was saying...I’m of the belief that it is more than merely intermixing that sullies pride in one’s purity - it’s the introduction of the notion that purity doesn’t matter at all - that, well, pardon the lack of a better word, mucks everything up. If we’re teaching our children that purity is of no consequence, then they will be heedless regarding future partners, wouldn’t you say? It’s bad enough for pureblood families to become more flexible with their philosophies, but discouraging half-bloods from being more discerning will only further denigrate their magic. Future generations will be as inept as  _Muggles_ if something isn’t done!”  
  
With a sudden bought of rage, Lily wondered—through Mulciber’s obnoxious attempts at sounding sophisticated—if Severus even realized that Mulciber insinuated  _he_  was some sort of degenerate or if Severus secretly believed the same.   
  
James’ cheeks coloured with contempt, but he simply shook his head. “And I still say that’s the biggest load of tosh I’ve—”  
  
“Do you  _mind_ , Potter?” Mulciber growled through gritted teeth.  
  
“On the contrary, William,” Agterop said, lifting his index finger, “I believe it would be fair to allow Mr. Potter to express his opinion on the matter. You must, of course, have a complete understanding of an opposing viewpoint to properly defend your own.”  
  
Mulciber looked disappointed, his lip curling as he looked at James as though he wanted to throttle him.  
  
“Thank you, sir,” James said, with a nod and a winning smile towards Agterop. “Intermixing has no effect on magical ability. That’s just pureblood propaganda, and you know it.”  
  
“ _Propaganda?_ ” Mulciber cried before chuckling with incredulity. “It’s common sense: magic is diluted more and more each time Muggles muck up the blood line.”  
  
James rolled his eyes. “There are plenty of wizards of magical and non-magical parents who are just as competent as, if not _more_  competent, than purebloods. Who your damn parents and grandparents are has nothing to do with  _your_  magical capacity. There is no solid proof, and it’s barking. Besides, if it weren’t for intermixing we  _all_  would have died out ages ago.”  
  
“Right, says one pureblood with a spotless lineage to another,” Mulciber snorted before turning to Agterop once more. “The worst, really, is when  _Muggle-borns_  start clamouring about oppression. They’ve been allowed into Hogwarts for nearly a thousand years, have positions of power throughout our world, and they still feel as if we’re unfair to them every minute of every day. The ingrates should thank us for letting them in  _at all_. We risk our very existence with every Muggle who knows about us. And it’s ridiculous that we’re in hiding to begin with, just as you said in your book that came out in ’73, sir—the one titled  _The Life-Long Troubles_. I read it the very day it was released. Compelling read, absolutely enlightening.”  
  
“Muggle-born attendance at Hogwarts is no more of a privilege than half or pureblood attendance,” Lily said abruptly, to Agterop’s surprise and to Mulciber’s displeasure.   
  
Mulciber put on a false smile, still attempting to appear mature and intellectual, but his tightening, red-handed grip on his glass of wine gave away his true sentiments. “Is that right, Evans?”  
  
“Yes. Ingrates, you said. As if you’re doing Muggle-borns a bloody favour,” Lily said, with a shake of her head. “Muggle-borns are just as much wizards and witches as purebloods and half-bloods. Blood purity is an ideology, not a reality. Surely you weren’t sleeping in History of Magic, Mulciber. It’s designed and upheld by people who fear differences and changes, so they create hierarchies and put themselves at the top so that they can rationalize their power and status as if it’s God-given. It’s ridiculous”  
  
“My, my, Ms...Evans, is it? For such a young lady, you’re rather passionate about this matter,” Agterop said, peering at her curiously under his large brows. Lily had to wonder why expressing her views on the matter was some sort of surprise while the boys carrying on was seen as simple manly tête-à-tête.  
  
“Well, sir,” Lily said, chin lifted. “ _I’m_  Muggle-born.”  
  
Agterop’s eyebrows nearly flew off of his forehead, while Mulciber took the opportunity to whisper something in Severus’ ear.   
  
“I was told years ago that it made no difference.” Lily looked at Severus, who swallowed and gained a sudden interest in his drink. “And they were right - it  _doesn’t_  make a difference. Blood distinctions are only used to maintain some...false sense of power.”  
  
Agterop was shooting glances between James and Lily as if they were some sort of fascinating spectacle. “Well, this is certainly, ah, of interest. Potter, a pureblood, courting a Muggle-born. My, my, in these troubled times that’s rather—”  
  
“Political,” Mulciber said, voice smooth and grin wide as he caught Lily’s eye and winked at her; the pounding blood from her impassioned speech turned cold. “It’s all politics, isn’t that right?”  
  
“Well, inadvertently so, yes. Now, now, don’t think I’m merely reducing your relationship to outside affairs,” Agterop quickly added, noticing James looking ready to refute. “But, I’d imagine someone with your politics, James, would  _like_  to be seen as an, ah, example of sorts.”  
  
“Yes, Evans can be used as an example of Potter’s enlightened belief system,” Severus said, speaking for the first time. “Inspirational.”  
  
“I’m not some sort of political pawn,” Lily informed Agterop, though looking straight at Severus. “People shouldn’t need to see people of different blood statuses in a relationship to realize that bigotry is wrong.”   
  
Severus’ lip curled before he regarded Afterop apologetically and spoke. “Pardon.” Mulciber was far too busy glaring daggers at Lily to witness Severus’ departure as he moved towards the front door of Slughorn’s office and into the hallway.   
  
She handed James her glass of mead and followed Severus, disregarding James calling out after her and the questioning looks of nearby students and guests. She saw Severus walking swiftly along the corridor and called his name, approaching him as fast as her heeled shoes would allow.  
  
Severus turned around sharply. “ _What?_ ”  
  
“You don’t  _really_  believe what Mulciber implied,” Lily said, as an assertion rather than a question.  
  
“I don’t know what the hell to believe anymore concerning  _you_. Nothing surprises me. So maybe Mulciber’s right.”  
  
“That’s  _rubbish_!” Lily moved closer to him and with each step his hardened resolve dissipated. “Must you believe every word that comes out of Mulciber’s mouth is gospel?”  
  
Severus raked his fingers through his hair and pulled as his speech grew more frenzied. “No, what’s  _rubbish_  is having to suffer seeing you two snogging in the corridors as if you can’t function for a fucking second without his tongue down your throat!”  
  
Lily’s eyes grew wide with disingenuous concern. “Oh, of  _course_ , Severus. How dare I show affection towards  _my_  boyfriend without thinking of  _your_  feelings? How inconsiderate of me, how careless. Blimey, you’re self-centred.”  
  
Her tone only incensed Severus further. “And  _you’re_  naive. I pity you, really.”  
  
“There’s no need to pity me,” Lily said, shaking her head with a frown. “I’m happy. And damn it, we may not be friends anymore but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be happy either.”  
  
“ _He’s using you, Lily!_ ” Severus shouted, waving his arm haphazardly in the direction of Slughorn’s office. “Maybe not as some pawn but for something else.  _Anything_  else.”  
  
“And I understand why you think that, but you’re  _wrong_ ,” Lily snapped. “We love each other— _and_   _I know that makes you sick, but it’s the truth.”_  
  
Severus was very still except for his shaking hands. “He’s thinking with his cock, Lily, and you’re falling for it like some...some stupid tart!”  
  
Lily crossed her arms, eyes narrowing into a cold glower. “So now I’m a  _tart_?”  
  
“ _No_ , no—what I meant was, you’re...” Severus cautiously glanced at her, as if anticipating an interruption. “What I mean is—that’s how he’s sees you! Like some stupid tart, expecting you to swoon every time he walks by just because he’s some Quidditch hero and has a vault at Gringotts. It seems to be working.” He looked down at her and wrinkled his nose. “Didn’t think you’d go for the posh sort. What are you, your sister?”  
  
Lily sighed. “You know what, try it all you want. I’m  _not_  going to apologize or feel guilty for my relationship.”  
  
“So is this the part when I say I hope you two are very happy together?” He gave her a withering look. “He’ll make a fool out of you. Once he gets tired of you like an old Quaffle, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”  
  
“Do you really wish that on me? Just for the satisfaction of being right?” Severus said nothing, and Lily continued. “There are so many things I know you’re getting up to that I hate with every fibre of my being, and you know that, but I hope for your own sake that I’m wrong. I hope every fucking day that I’m wrong and you’ll wake up and realize what you’re getting yourself into, because I care fuck-all about being right if it’s in exchange for your wellbeing, so  _please_. You’re better than that...than Mulciber...than  _them_. I  _know_  you are.”  
  
Lily watched the boy standing across from her, his face masked in practiced impassivity, but he couldn’t hide from her. She could interpret every twitch of his lips and dart of his eyes as if it was its own language. She knew dispassionate was the last thing he was at that moment; he was fighting an internal battle of what to say next, how to react.  
  
“Are you done?” Severus asked at last. He attempted to sound callous but she heard the hint of pain in his voice, as if looking at her for a moment longer would be agonizing. Lily nodded, pressing her lips tightly together so they wouldn’t tremble. Severus looked down at his shoes before giving her a last, piercing stare. “Bye.” He strode down the hallway, back to the dungeons.  
  
“Bye,” she managed, wondering if he heard her and also reassuring herself it wouldn’t have changed anything either way. She might have ended it two years ago, but nothing felt as final as that moment.   
  


**...**

  
  
The rest of Slughorn’s party was uneventful yet poignant, knowing it was her last Slug Club soiree of her school career. It did, however, end on a high note: Mulciber spilled wine all over the front of his robes and, as one third-year guest loudly and aptly pointed out, it looked like he’d pissed himself. “I swear, I didn’t make Mulciber spill his drink,” James told Lily on their way out of the party. “I wish I could take credit for it, but I can’t. We can only thank the party gods for something so fucking hilarious.”  
  
They returned to the boys’ dormitory around midnight. The boys were already sleeping - at least Remus and Peter were. Sirius’ bed was empty, and Lily reckoned he could be doing God-knows-what God-knows-where with God-knows-who. She originally stopped by to pick up a pair of earrings she had left on James’ dresser, but by the time they were in her grasp, James wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed the skin beneath her ear. “Stay.”  
  
Minutes later, she was wearing James’ oversized Puddlemere United shirt in his bed. He cast a silencing charm around the hangings and charmed them closed.   
  
Lily asked what James knew of Agterop, and James’ brows furrowed. He looked rather different without his glasses on - certainly more squinty and perplexed in an endearing way.   
  
“He’s a bit of an enigma really. He doesn’t think we should have to remain in hiding to appease Muggles. He’s written loads of articles about it.”  
  
“Do you think he supports Voldemort?”  
  
“I really don’t think so, at least not completely,” James said, playing with a strand of Lily’s hair. “A few of his ideas like not living in fear of Muggle interception, sure, but I don’t think he’d ever want to get his hands dirty, and I’m sure he doesn’t support some mass genocide. Did you see the way he was reacting to Mulciber’s barmy ramblings?”  
  
“He  _did_  look rather uncomfortable.”  
  
“Enough about him, what did you want with Snape?” James asked. “And for the record, this is the last time I will  _ever_ mention him in my bed.”  
  
Lily stared at the hangings above and closed her eyes. “I’m worried about him. Of what he’ll be getting up to in a matter of days, with Mulciber and Avery most likely...once we’re out of school. I just don’t know what it’ll take to get him to see reason.”  
  
“Maybe you’ll be in luck and the Death Eaters have a no greasy, big nosed gits policy.”  
  
“ _James!_ ”   
  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, that was shit of me, you’re right,” James apologised, seeing her utter lack of amusement. “I shouldn’t try to make it funny. I know. Because it’s not. But I reckon all you can do at this point is hope for the best.”  
  
Lily nodded. James gently pressed a kiss against her forehead, his hand running lightly through her wavy hair. Lily’s mouth touched James’ throat, lips grazing his Adam’s apple.  
  
“By the way,” James started, and Lily’s lips vibrated against his skin. He pulled away slightly and sat up, gazing at her face. “My eyesight may be terrible, you’re really just a big red blur, but you’ve got to be the prettiest red blur there is.”  
  
Lily laughed. “Just don’t go out looking at any Muggle stop lights without your glasses on. I may have some competition.”  
  
James kissed her again. “I should have asked you earlier, but...well, you know we leave in a couple days and, well, er...” James was nervous, mulling over his words as if he’s been considering them for quite a while. “Well, I’m going to get a flat in London, and I think it would be brilliant if you, we, you know, lived together.”  
  
“So you’re asking me to be your flatmate.”  
  
“Er, a flatmate...with benefits.”  
  
“That’s a big step.”  
  
“Aye.”  
  
Lily’s lips curled into a smile. “I’d love to be your flatmate with benefits, James. But what do those benefits include?”  
  
James smirked, hazel eyes crinkling at the corners as he wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “I could show you, if you’d like.”  
  
Lily reached up to push her hands through James’ perpetually messy mass of black hair before giving him a peck on the tip of his pointed nose. “I’d like that very much.” 

 

  
  


**...**

  
  


Being a Muggle-born in the midst of a war of status, blood, and privilege conveyed somethingpolitical whether she liked it or not. While her every move did not intentionally coincide with a political message or motive—especially not her romance with a pureblood—Mulciber wasn’t exactly wrong in that corridor in sixth year. He was frighteningly realistic about the politics of subjugation and degradation to meet political goals. Mulciber’s smoothly delivered three little words always remained at the back of her mind. Sometimes they consumed her: as she read of the carnage in the newspaper, when she received a photo of a woman slaughtered by the Killing Curse with a simple message of ‘you’re next’ on the back , and especially when writing to her family and explicating why contact between them may soon be limited due to ‘impending circumstances.’ All of it, the panic and the terror, was politically tied.  
  
When she returned to her and James’ flat from Order business covered with bruises and fresh scars, every mild discomfort and fractured wrist was worth the fight against Voldemort’s hopes for a dictatorial new world order. She might have been unable to break the bonds politics had on nearly all aspects of her life, but it comforted her to know she wasn’t alone in her burden - and with James and the Order beside her, she never would be.  
  
---  
  



End file.
